


To Be

by kaileidohscope



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Byun Baekhyun & Kim Jongdae are Friends, M/M, Melodrama, Mystery, Past Kim Jongin | Kai & Park Chanyeol, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Tsundere Baekhyun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-07 17:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaileidohscope/pseuds/kaileidohscope
Summary: After almost twenty solitary years, Byun Baekhyun, an extraordinary immortal, was still convinced  he wasn't ready to find another mate - that he didn't want another mate. Park Chanyeol, an ordinary human being running from his midlife crisis, was about to change his mind.





	1. Part One: I

Park Chanyeol was not a failure. The contrary, actually. He was very successful in life. He’d graduated from high school at the ripe age of sixteen – having skipped a grade, or two. He’d mastered countless instrumental and vocal talents. He’d gotten into Seoul University – had majored in music composition and business. He’d had plenty of relationships and friends – which came and left as the years rolled by.

He was the gold star of his family – the perfect son. The type of boyfriend your parents hoped you’d would bring home as a future son-in-law. He was positive, and always happy-go-lucky with his dazzling smile.

Park Chanyeol as the ideal human being; the type of person everyone strived to become.

He’d worked hard to get where he was, but somewhere in between the smiles, laughter, and business hours, Chanyeol never felt quite right in his twenty-three years of living in the bustling city of Seoul, Korea.

Something was always amiss, but he could never pinpoint it – similar to counting all your desk objects twice but still feeling like something was misplaced or awry. He was restless and discontented.

He wanted something different. He wanted to travel, to break from the routine of his boring life, paperwork, and skyscraping buildings.

 

He quit his job as a composer for one of the many famous Entertainment companies, he divided his thousands between family members, and he moved out of his expensive apartment and into the cold and uncaring streets of Hongdae.

From there, he went from dining in upper class restaurants and throwing away money to sleeping next to dumpsters and lounging in coffee shops, walking for hours with no destination in mind and wasting quarters to buy newspapers.

He scavenged for leftovers in trashcans, and stole street food when sellers turned their backs.

For a while, it felt nice. His family was completely unsupportive of his rash actions and abrupt choice of lifestyle, but at least he felt contented for the time being. Until the itch for something new set in, and he was right back where he started.

Now all the quarters he’d been wasting on newspaper weren’t such a waste anymore, for he began perusing every line of ink for some spark of adventure; for something to catch his eye.

Something, in fact, _did_ catch his eye one fateful afternoon, where bold letters were advertising a free place to stay in exchange for housework and pasturage – located four hours away in the far reaching corners of the Yanggu countryside where Chanyeol had never stepped foot.

No more than twenty minutes after this grand finding, Chanyeol was stood at a payphone, expressing his interest.  

******

“It’s been twenty years, Baekhyun,” Kim Jongdae sighs from where he stands in the barn doorway, watching said male as he effortlessly hoists a bundle of hay up and into the back of a truck, blue eyes flicking up in a brief glower before moving onto the last bundle.

“Don’t you think it’s time move on?” He continues even though he knows what’s coming – this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

“It hasn’t been twenty years.” Baekhyun retorts instead, making sure the ropes are good and tight before closing the back of the pickup truck and dusting his trousers off. The sun is setting in the south, and the vibrate colors of orange, yellow, and pink compliment the two immortals pale complexions favorable. “It’s only been eighteen.”

“Same difference.” Jongdae mutters in exasperation, pushing off the doorway as Baekhyun moves to close the doors. “You need some interaction. This being alone all the time – it’s not good for you.”

“I do have interaction - plenty.” Baekhyun argues, unceremoniously motioning towards the wide open pasture of grazing cattle and sheep surrounding them.

“I don’t mean the fucking animals, Baek, I mean interaction with _people_.”

“I interact with _you_.”

“You need to find some _more_ friends _._ ” Jongdae stresses, following the younger divinity as he digs his keys from his pocket and climbs into the driver’s seat of the truck.  “It’s unhealthy the way you’re being. Your sex drive is probably a fucking car crash waiting to happen, and I don’t want to be around when it finally explodes.”

Baekhyun rolls in his eyes and reaches out to close the door, pausing to give his friend a pointed look and wait for him to get out of the way, “What’s unhealthy is how much time you spend worrying about my damn sex drive – which is just fine, for your information.”

“Baek, please, would you at least consider going out for a night? Meeting some new people, making some new friends? You don’t have to sleep with anyone, just get off this damn farm for once!” Jongdae near pleads, hands latching onto the windowpane once Baekhyun has closed the door.

Baekhyun sighs deeply, sliding the key into the ignition and revving the engine a few times until it’s up and steadily running.

“I’m not ready, Jongdae.” He mumbles after several minutes, eyes downcast and voice soft, “You have to understand. I need more time.”

Jongdae gives a shallow sigh, and steps back as Baekhyun pulls the truck forward and off towards the pasturage.

“Why won’t you just listen to me?” He mumbles tiredly to himself, shaking his head and planting his hands on his hips.

******

Chanyeol tiptoes up the wooden steps of a quaint little house, guitar case slung across his back and one suitcase in hand. The place looks to be three stories, but the overall size is surprisingly small compared to the large acers of green land and field surrounding it. It appears dwarfed in their comparison.

He adjusts the fedora atop his head and digs a piece of paper out of his ripped jeans pocket, checking the address just once more before pressing the buzzer.

It’s a short wait – maybe two heartbeats – before the front door is opened and a friendly face appears behind the screen door.

There’s a dim sort of silence when no one speaks up.

“Are… you Kim Jongdae?” Chanyeol tries uncertainly, and the corners of the man’s lips turn up into an automatic smile.

“Ah, yes, that’s me. You must be Chanyeol – we spoke over the phone?”

Chanyeol nods with a smile, and Jongdae opens the screen door and steps aside to allow the human entrance.

“I’m glad you made it alright. That was probably a rough ride all the way from Seoul, no?” Jongdae chuckles melodiously.

“It’s was actually a nice journey.” Chanyeol replies, “I’ve never been to the countryside before. There’s so much air here.”

They both share laughs, and Jongdae motions for Chanyeol to put his things by the door.

“I _was_ quite surprised when the Seoul area code was calling, “ The immortal admits with an amused chortle, tilting his chin towards the living room and leading Chanyeol towards it, lacing his fingers together behind himself.

“Wouldn’t have expected someone of your standard to be interested in a farming job. Didn’t you work in entertainment?”

“Oh, yeah, but it wasn’t for me.” Chanyeol lightly shook his head in emphasis.

“So you assume living out here with cows and sheep will be?” Jongdae amicably challenges, cocking a brow at the tall human.

Chanyeol laughs and shrugs his shoulders. “I figured it was worth a try, I guess. I needed a change.”

“Yes, well.” Jongdae hums, taking a seat in an armchair while Chanyeol perches on the edge of a couch. “I think you’ll like this place. It’s quite divergent to the city, and as for Mr. Byun – Well, he’s a bit of a strange fellow, but I think you two will come to get along.”

Chanyeol’s lips pull into a smile, and nods his head once. “I’m glad.”

 

They go over the basics. Byun Baekhyun, as Jongdae describes, is stubborn and introverted, and _old_. He doesn’t talk too much, so he shouldn’t cause too many problems. He also has a strict diet, and Chanyeol is not expected to cook him meals and worry of such things. _He has it taken care of_ , as Jongdae says.

Chanyeol learns that he is not, under any circumstances, to enter the blue barn out in the pasturage. All of the supplies he’ll need at in the red barn – located just off to the side of the house – this goes hand and hand with making sure the cattle and sheep are always well-nourished and fed.

There is a peek in Chanyeol’s curiosity at the mention of the blue barn, and Jongdae seems to notice it with an almost unnoticeable, but amused, tilt of his lips that Chanyeol doesn’t seem to catch.

 

Chanyeol’s room is on the middle floor – adjacent from Mr. Byun’s – and Jongdae has just offered the man a tour when a figure emerges at the base of the stairs, and catches gazes with the human with a stoic, unreadable expression.

His hair is ebony, and it frames his porcelain-like features with straight across bangs and sharply trimmed sideburns. His fringe ghosts down just above his lashes, and lightly bounces when the lithe man blinks his azure eyes.

His faintly parted lips are lissome, and a deep ruby red blossoms from the middle and pales around the edges—and Chanyeol is enchanted by his beauty as he slowly raises himself from the couch and fidgets with his fingers.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, and his voice is harmonious. It sends a warmth spreading through Chanyeol’s chest in the most content, _calming_ manner he’d ever experienced.

“ _This_ , Baekhyun,” Jongdae speaks up tunefully, and Chanyeol thinks he must’ve heard wrong, because Baekhyun doesn’t look old at all – rather he’s in his prime. Jongdae breaks the taller’s trance when he claps a hand over his shoulder in a friendly gesture. “…is Chanyeol. You’re new personal helper-slash-housemate. He’ll be staying with you for the next six months.”

Chanyeol has signed a contract confirming this. As long as he stays and does his job obediently, he’s ensured a warm bed and fresh food for six months.

Baekhyun briefly assesses the mortal – vibrant irises moving down the length of Chanyeol’s willowy form before meeting his eyes. “A human.” is the first thing he says, and Chanyeol is confused because – well yes, of course he’s human.

“You’re unneeded here. Please leave.” He says apathetically, and makes his blunt leave towards the back door.

Chanyeol is stood in nonplus, lips ajar and eyes cast in the direction the beautiful creature had gone off to.

“You’ll have to excuse Baekhyun.” Jongdae chuckles in an exasperated manner, lightly patting Chanyeol on the shoulder. “He has a bit of a dry sense of humor. You’ll get used to it, eventually. Now, how about that tour?”

Chanyeol hears the words, but he’s a bit slow on understanding them. He nods nevertheless – not entirely sure what he’s nodding for, and follows after Jongdae as the chestnut-haired immortal guides him off towards one of the corridors.

If Chanyeol were going to be very honest, he’d admit that he hadn’t really been paying much attention at all throughout the entire tour. He was more concerned with the incredibly detailed paintings scaling walls, or the wilting flowers in the occasional flowerpot. Jongdae’s words went in one ear and out the other—to put it simply.

******

It hadn’t taken Chanyeol long to get settled into his room – with the one suitcase he’d packed with his old and stained shirts and pants, it only taken a mere fifteen minutes to get his clothes folded up and put away in the drawers of an old dusty dresser. He set up his guitar stand, and carefully puts his guitar up for display.

With nothing left to do, the tall man dithered there in the room’s doorway.

Baekhyun had come back from outside about an hour go – though had vanished off to his room before Chanyeol had gotten a peek of him.

The man hadn’t appeared too keen of him at their meeting, so Chanyeol got the idea of making a good dinner for the both of them—as a peace offering. Surely it’d cast a good impression, and Baekhyun would be more welcoming, right?

It was a grand idea, and soon Chanyeol was moving about cabinets and drawers – flipping on burners and pulling on oven mitts. There wasn’t much food to work with—he’d made a mental note to go grocery shopping the next morning—but he’d managed to whip up some kimchi spaghetti with the small amount of ingredients he’d found.

It’s all set and ready by the time the flawless house owner comes back down stairs, and Chanyeol stands from where he’s been patiently waiting in the dining room.

“Oh. You’re still here.” Baekhyun thrums, and Chanyeol does his best to ignore the comment as he walks around the table.

“I hope you’re hungry, Mr. Baekhyun.” He amicably smiles, pulling a chair out when Baekhyun slowly approaches – inspecting the meal with an expression that Chanyeol can’t really read. “I’ve prepared kimchi spaghetti. I’m not much of a cook, but I—“

“Why did you cook this?” Baekhyun mumbles, and it’s more of a cold statement than a question, taking the already full and ready plate placed in front of the seat Chanyeol had offered. He stares at it for a while, as if it’s a vile and repulsive creation, then turns and carries it towards the kitchen.

Chanyeol, curious, quickly scuttles after the man to find him dumping the pasta into the sink and flicking the garbage disposal on, rinsing the dish off and placing it in the dishwasher.

Chanyeol is left stunned, but Baekhyun pays no mind to the human as he dries his hands with a dish towel and turns the disposal off.

“You shouldn’t waste food when there are people starving in this world.” He vacantly rebukes, draping the small towel over the oven handle and turning towards Chanyeol.

“Clean this mess up; don’t disturb me.”

And Baekhyun has gone out the back door before Chanyeol has even uttered a word.

“I—You... _Me,_ _wasting food_?” Chanyeol gawps, even though he’s talking to himself. “ _You’re_ the one who’s wasting food!” He scoffs incredulously as he stomps back to the dining room. Suddenly, he wasn’t all that hungry.

“Ungrateful bastard.”

Chanyeol mutters bitterly, and begins gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink. Cranking on the water, and letting the sink fill, he continues murmuring under his breath before a sight catches his eyes, outside the window placed above the sink.

Baekhyun is out by the wooden fence that borders the pasture, currently stroking the snout of one of the cows as he appears to be mumbling soft things to it, nuzzling against the side of the animal’s face. It’s a strange sight, and it leaves Chanyeol a bit disturbed, but even more so curious about this _Mr. Byun Baekhyun_ who is apparently a cattle whisperer or something.

Avoiding distraction, Chanyeol reaches up and pulls a cord, and the blinds flump shut to block the view of outside, then he continues morosely with his work.

******

“Jongdae, I want that human out of my house, _now_.” Baekhyun seethes into his phone after having wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve – the ruby blood messily smearing along the cotton and soaking into the soft seams.

He’s currently perched atop the wooden fence, and he’s patching up the fresh wound he’d just inflicted on the cow he’s named Mei-Mei – a black and white blotched Holstein Friesian he’s had for about five years now.

Jongdae sighs heavily on the opposite end of the line, and Baekhyun yanks a long strip of tape free and aligns it to the squared edges of the gauze patch on the conjunction between the bovinae’s neck and shoulder.

“Baek, he hasn’t even been there—“

“He made kimchi spaghetti!” Baekhyun barks, tone taking on a lower register far deeper than his once velvety voice – which is now grainy and threatening.

He takes a moment to in- and exhale deeply, gripping a wad of blood-stained gauze in his fist. “He made… **Kimchi.** **Spaghetti**.” He growls through tightly clenched jaws. “I want. Him out. _Now_.”

“He signed a contract, Baekhyun.” Jongdae says calmly.

“I don’t give a fuck about the contract! Just get rid of him – dammit!”

“Now, now, calm your tits, will you? That built up sexual frustration is really taking a toll, _jeez_.”

“Jongdae, I swear to God…” Baekhyun sighs thickly, pinching the bridge of his pale nose and squeezing his eyes shut – trying to control his temper.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do, Baek.” Jongdae sighs and he’s much more serious now.

“There has to be something, Jongdae, please.” Baekhyun near pleads, dropping his arm to his side in dread as Mei-Mei begins to wander off - now patched up nicely.

“A contract is a contract. That’s the bottom line. But,” Jongdae’s tone raises considerably, pausing for a sigh, and Baekhyun almost yells at him to finish his sentence. “...it _is_ possible to cut it—“

“Then do it.”

“ _But,_ there’s a catch.”

Baekhyun groans, “What catch?”

“A ten-thousand dollar catch.” Jongdae deadpans flatly, and Baekhyun nearly chokes on his own spit.

“ _Ten-thousand dollars…_ ” He gawps, having to grab hold of one of the planks to keep himself from falling off the fence.

“Yep. His paycheck is originally only five-thousand, but it’s doubled for the hassle and issues of early termination.” His friend explains. “So it’s either you deal with him for the next few months, or hack over the cash.”

Baekhyun garbles melodramatically, pressing his palm to his forehead in crisis. “ _Goddammit_ , Jongdae, why did you do this to me?”

Jongdae chuckles mirthfully over the line. “It’s only six months, Baek. Just give him a chance – It’ll be good for you.”

“Only six months…” Baekhyun exhales, reasoning to himself that it’s really not that long.

**

Chanyeol wakes early the next morning, and the house appears virtually empty as he cautiously tiptoes down the stairs. Jongdae hadn’t mentioned anything about Baekhyun having a job, so Chanyeol can only assume the man is still sleeping.

He doesn’t wonder about it too long, because he’s already got his mind set on getting some proper food in the kitchen. He’s dressed and out the door in no more than twenty minutes – remembering to grab the credit card Jongdae had generously left him on the Lazy Susan out in the dining room.

The nearest market is about a forty minute walk away, but it’s nice, and it gives Chanyeol plenty of time to enjoy the outdoors and fresh air for the first time in his life.

When he gets to the store, he peruses through each isle – reading and comparing labels for the least amount of calories and the healthiest choice.

If Baekhyun was so worried about his diet, Chanyeol was determined to buy food that the man would actually be willing to eat. Pasta was high in carbohydrates – therefore, this was reason Chanyeol had gone with when Baekhyun hadn’t eaten his food the previous night.

_This’ll do it_ , he thinks confidently to himself as he weighs his options with bread, going with the whole wheat one and putting the sourdough back on the shelf. _This’ll get me on his good side for sure._

Park Chanyeol. What a clever man.

******

Joggling about eight bags of groceries, Chanyeol is sweaty and out of breath by the time he’s gotten back to the house – heaving his way up the front steps and finally setting the load down to let himself in.

Holding the screen door open with his foot, he pushes open the wooden door and gathers up the bag handles in his palms, transporting them from the porch to the foyer in a quick yet careful swing – letting both doors close before carrying the bags over to the dining table and putting them there with a sigh a of relief.

A soft tune then reaches his ears as he wipes the beads of perspiration from his forehead, and he looks towards the stairs in which it’s coming from. Curious, he goes to investigate. It’s a peaceful melody; relaxing, and what one might listen to on a rainy morning to ease away stress and ponder. But it’s been sunny today, Chanyeol recalls.

He’s eventually guided to the Study, where a grand piano is located, along with a bay window and a couple packed book shelves. Perched in said bay window, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head pillowed by his arms, is a thoughtful Baekhyun – gazing out into the pasture.

Chanyeol looks to his left, where a stereo system is mounted into the wall – also the source of the gentle music – and then looks back to the porcelain-like boy.

His azure irises seem to capture all the sunrays, reflecting a beautiful glow and Chanyeol can’t help but stare.

“Pretty.”

Baekhyun lifts his head towards the speaker, seemingly bemused and startled by his presence, and Chanyeol fumbles over his words before motioning towards the stereo.

“Uh, t-the song—I mean—it’s a nice song.” He coughs somewhat awkwardly, and Baekhyun returns his attention to the window after giving a lingering, subtle, _judgmental_ tilt of his brow.

“Erm…” Chanyeol rubs awkwardly at his nape, chewing his lip for a moment and looking at his shoes.

Under the impression that the human isn’t going to leave, Baekhyun lifts his head again and looks over at him with a sigh.

“I… went to the store for some food. Um, could you—are you… perhaps on the Atkins diet?” Chanyeol’s tone raises faintly in his hesitant question, and he’s finally looks up from his feet.

Baekhyun does nothing but knit his brows.

“You know—it’s an American diet plan where you don’t eat carbs, and… Well, I just assumed since you didn’t, I mean…” Chanyeol chuckles awkwardly and itches behind his ear. “Um, nevermind. How about the Paper Cup Diet, then?” He tries instead.

Nothing.

“It’s where you get five paper cups and you—“

“I thought Jongdae told you not to worry about me.” Baekhyun interrupts as he turns slightly and lowers his feet to the wooden floor, mildly startling Chanyeol – who blinks twice.

“Oh... Uh, he did, but I just thought—“

“Stop worrying about me, then.” Baekhyun says with a slight edge, and there’s something about it that scares Chanyeol a bit.

He steps aside when Baekhyun stands and moves to leave the room – which he does, leaving Chanyeol to stand there.

_Damn it_. He screwed up again. He wondered if getting close to Baekhyun was even possible at this rate. He obviously wasn’t getting anyway with acts of kindness. Maybe he should be rude, then?

“The cattle,”

Chanyeol startles out of his thoughts and quickly turns around. It was Baekhyun stood off to the side of the doorway, turned slightly towards him but not looking up from the floor.

“The cattle need to be fed. You have a job, remember?” Then he turns, and continues off towards where ever it is he’s going – his room, most probably.

Chanyeol doesn’t know why, but just these simple words make him smile, and he salutes jovially. “Yes, sir! I’m on it!”

His smile grows at an alarming rate, and he bounds down the stairs with an aura of happiness.

 

“ _Only six months_ …” Baekhyun grumbles begrudgingly to himself after he’s closed himself in his room, auburn head falling back against the lacquered wood.

******

Days pass. Chanyeol feeds the animals, keeps the barn clean of manure (the worst part, if you were to ask him), milks the cows, and herds the sheep. It all comes surprisingly natural for him – but then again, just about everything he sets to learn comes effortlessly, so it’s not much of a surprise at all.

He and Baekhyun speak rarely – or, rather, _Chanyeol_ attempts small-talk with simple a _‘Good morning’_ and the occasional _‘nice weather today, huh?’_

Baekhyun doesn’t offer many verbal responses. He either ignores the comment completely and continues what he’s doing, or – if he’s feeling particularly nice that day – he’ll hum in vague acknowledgement, but not spare the mortal a glance.

Chanyeol takes it as Baekhyun’s natural disposition, and doesn’t take offense. The first few encounters, however, had been a bit tense and awkward.

 

Chanyeol gets rather bored in this beautiful manor with no one else to converse with, and on common occasions, Chanyeol has found himself musing away at the cattle; laughing at his own jokes and enjoying his own stories with the childish belief the cows are listening and actually understand what it is he’s rambling about.

On such common occasions, the willowy man talks about everything off the top of his head. From the way the birds had sang that afternoon, to his curiosity about the empty frames hung hollow on the walls of the three-story house.

From the beautiful Purple Orchid Trees blossoming towards the outer skirts of the pasture, to a certain porcelain blackette who he has spotted on numerous occasions sat out in the middle of the green fields with the cattle grazing around him.

 

There are many things Chanyeol has noticed about Baekhyun.

He notices the gentle melodies seeping beneath his closed bedroom door, and how on some days, Baekhyun’s azure eyes can look so dull, solemn, and so stoic.

He notices how Baekhyun perches in the bay window on rainy days, watching small beads collect and drip down the glass, and he notices how Baekhyun will sit at the grand piano in the Study while he’s passing by to water the plants, and he notices how Baekhyun will place his delicate fingers over the keys, but never brings himself to press down.

Baekhyun is a quiet soul who harbors many things that Chanyeol cannot understand.

He’s a mystery, and he looks so awfully lonely.

 

**

It is two and a half weeks after Chanyeol’s first day that something out of the ordinary occurs. It’s a warm afternoon, and Chanyeol has just come inside from restocking the hay in the feeding bins.

Absentmindedly wiping his hands on his trousers, he wanders to the sink and cranks on the tap – sleeves pushed up passed his elbows as he washes the grainy feeling of hay and dirt from his fingernails and forearms.

He hasn’t seen Baekhyun once today. It’s not exactly peculiar given the porcelain boy is more of a fleeting ghost around the manor, but there’s usually a passing glimpse or chance meeting of gazes, maybe a smile on Chanyeol’s end, and nothing on Baekhyun’s.

Today, however, there are no such encounters. If Chanyeol hadn’t known better, he’d think he was the only soul in the house.

 

Drying his hands on a hand towel, he lets his eyes wander where they want until they catch on the window above the sink, and the blue barn dwarfed by distance out in the pasturage. He has no more than half a sigh before a warbled cry – something between a growl and grunt – ricochets through the house, followed by a thud, drowned out by shattering glass.

Chanyeol startles, wide eyes turning up towards the disturbance in panic. “Baekhyun?” He calls, tossing the hand towel aside and making a dash towards the stairs. There are many rooms he passes in frantic search, but it’s not until he reaches the library on the third floor that he finds the being he’s been calling out for, and the sight he sees makes his blood run cold.

 

Baekhyun is flumped on the floor near one of many book shelves, beneath a shattered mirror hung on the wall. His head his ducked low, and deep crimson liquid is oozing from the back of lithe man’s right elbow – dripping thick stripes of red down the extent of his arm and pooling in his palm and the polished wooden floor.

“B-Baekhyun! What happened—“ Chanyeol is frantic as he rushes to Baekhyun’s side and takes his bloody arm in his hands. He’s gentle yet hurried, but Baekhyun says nothing – does nothing but sits there without a hint of pain or worry. “Y-You’re bleeding…—!”

Upon closer inspection, Chanyeol finds little shards of reflecting glass pierced into Baekhyun’s arm, dotting his flesh like splattered paint on a canvas.

“I tripped and fell against the mirror. It’s nothing.” Baekhyun mumbles, watching Chanyeol’s trembling hands hesitate over the small shards of mirror penetrating his flesh. By now, Chanyeol’s hands are covered in blood, as well.

“N-Nothing?” Chanyeol incredulously parrots as he’s carefully hoisting Baekhyun to his feet. “You’re bleeding too much—It might’ve hit an artery—!”

“I’m fine.”

“—We need to get you—“

“No—.”

“—to a hospital before—“

“—It’s nothing.”

“—you bleed out too much—“ Chanyeol is panicked. Both of their shirts and arms are soaked in ruby liquid, but Baekhyun isn’t budging from where he’s stood and propped against the mirror’s frame. Chanyeol is that much more frantic to urge him towards the doorway.

“Come on, we don’t have time—“

“— I’m _fine_ —“

“You’re not, you’re bleeding—!“

“Dammit, I said _I’m fine!”_   Baekhyun snarls, and shoves himself from Chanyeol’s grasp with a startling force that sends the willowy man stumbling back. His heel knocks into a small wooden chair beside a study table, and both pieces of furniture screech back as Chanyeol barely regains balance and keeps from falling over them.

A light bulb simultaneously bursts behind him – one of the torch-like light fixtures mounted on the walls – while the others warble and shudder for a moment before settling.

“Do you not know how to fucking listen?” Baekhyun growls, fists clenched at his sides – and blood dripping to the floor.

Chanyeol can say nothing, because he’s still in shock, and Baekhyun has already stormed out of the room by the time he regains his thoughts. He is left with a hand clamped over his erratic heart, and in utter befuddlement as he turns and looks at the bustled light bulb on the floor.

**

Baekhyun locks himself in his room for the remainder of the evening. Chanyeol thinks this is reckless, and he’s concerned for the elder’s well-being, but he doesn’t disturb him.

Instead, he wipes up the pools of blood in the library, along with the trail of drips that lead down to the second floor and to Baekhyun’s door, and gets on his knees to sweep up the broken pieces of mirror scattered out all over the floor. He pricks his fingers on their edges a few times, but it’s nothing to fret over.

He’s more concerned with Baekhyun, and how his explanation doesn’t add up no matter how he tries to picture it. The mirror is hung too high, for if Baekhyun were to actually fall, with his height – his elbow would land below it, knocking into the walls, not shattering the mirror. But if Chanyeol bends his knees and brings himself to Baekhyun’s level, he finds that if he angles his elbow just right, it will land in the exact same place in which the mirror had been struck.

That’s the key word, here. _Struck._ Because this couldn’t be an accident. There was nothing for the small man to stumble over. Baekhyun must’ve done this intentionally. But, why?

That was a question Chanyeol didn’t want to ask. It wasn’t his place to pry, and he’d already promised not to worry about Baekhyun – but he was doing it anyway.

 

Later that night, after Chanyeol has eaten his dinner at the dining room table, listening to the News as if plays on the television out in the living room, and he has cleaned up all his dishes, he gets a tray out of one of the cabinets and sets it on the counter. He gathers some gauze pads he finds in another cabinet, along with some wrapping bandages, peroxide, band-aids, a bowl of water, a white fuzzy cloth, and some Ibuprofen with a small cup of water.

This isn’t worrying, he reasons, this is just common decency.

He hesitates in front of Baekhyun’s bedroom; dithers there while deciding whether to knock or not. In the end he goes for the latter, and carefully places the tray before the door in silence. When Baekhyun comes out – _if_ Baekhyun comes out – it’ll be there in offering, and Chanyeol will not have disturbed the man if he was still upset.

Feeling a small sense of peace, Chanyeol retires to his room that night and eases into sleep.

**

The next morning, Chanyeol wakes up to find the tray outside his door – in a similar fashion in which he’d left it outside Baekhyun’s. But something is added to the tray, in the shape of a white index card with sharp letters pressed onto the lines. Chanyeol bends down, and takes the card between his fingers. It’s splotched with water damaged areas, making the blue and pink ink smear slightly, but the black words are still completely readable.

 

_ When I say not to worry about me, I expect you to listen _

 

He flips it over, and scribbled on the back, in angry letters, is:

 

_ Idiot _

 

Chanyeol sighs, his spirits dropping quite a bit at the aggravation clearly stated through the syllables.

A bit downhearted, he crumbles the card up and stuffs it into his pocket before picking up the tray and carrying it back downstairs to the kitchen.

If he’d looked closer, he might’ve noticed the bowl of water was a bit lower than before, or that a handful of gauze pads were missing, but in the end, he doesn’t, and puts everything away with a morose frame of mind.

Park Chanyeol. He really is a foolish man.

**

For a couple days, things go back to being mundane. Baekhyun avoids him like the plague, but Chanyeol still spotted him perched in the bay window while he’s outside sorting the hay the previous day, and he’d heard the peaceful melodies pouring out from under the elder’s bedroom door as he passed by earlier that morning.

 

Baekhyun is a strange fellow, indeed, but Chanyeol still wonders if perhaps the man is just lonely. He was introverted, but maybe he just needed someone to love?

He found Baekhyun very attractive – beautiful, even. He’d discovered that he, himself, was interested in both men and women, but Baekhyun had shown no interest in the same sex, so he was a bit at a loss when it came to possibly offering companionship.

“Maybe I should sign him up for an online dating website?” Chanyeol muses as he stands, brushing the short hair of the cow he’s often heard Baekhyun refer to as _Mei-Mei._ He considers it for a moment, but shakes his head with a downhearted sigh. “No. I don’t even know his interests.” Chanyeol falls into a lapse of silence, stroking the stiff bristles of the brush over Mei-Mei’s healthily plump sides, and admires the pretty shine.

Something catches his eyes some minutes – when he’d moved to brush Mei-Mei’s muscular neck. There, just above her shoulder, where her short fur was balding, was a crescent scar, eerily similar to a… _bite_ mark of some sort. Chanyeol grooves his brows, brushing the pad of his thumb over the peculiar cicatrix. He then recalls a scene he’d witnessed some weeks ago, when he’d spotted Baekhyun outside next to pasturage, stroking Mei-Mei’s snout and nuzzling at her cheek. He sighs shortly, brows scrunching up even further. “He really is strange, isn’t he?” He mumbles softly, glancing at the bovinae’s face as if she’d express some sort of agreement.

“Says the man who’s talking to cattle.”

Chanyeol startles, blinking madly as he snaps his eyes up towards the voice. Baekhyun is stood in the doorway of the barn, arms crossed and propped against the barn door as if he’d been watching the whole time.

“O-Oh, Baekhyun, you scared me!” He chuckles flusteredly, scrambling to continue brushing Mei-Mei’s fur, all but forgetting the strange scar. “How long have you been standing there?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer the question, but instead stays silent as he slowly approaches them. He’s more focused on the cow, with a foreign softness in his azure orbs as he raises a pale, pretty hand and fondly scratches her muzzle.

Chanyeol watches, fascinated, but he can’t stare too long before he’s gaze is dodging away. He can practically hear his heartbeat in his ears, fingers faintly trembling in nervousness.

This is the closest they’ve stood since the mirror incident. Chanyeol doesn’t know how to act, and he’s now overly aware of the lithe man stood on the opposite side of Mei-Mei, stroking the side of her neck.

It seems like forever before someone finally speaks on, and Chanyeol is surprised it’s Baekhyun to break the tension. “I… wanted to thank you,” He starts quietly, eyes downcast as Chanyeol looks at him. “For the other day, I mean. It was kind of you.”

Chanyeol finds a smile breaking through his previously stoic expression, and he simply shrugs his shoulders despite the swell of warmth in his chest. This is the closest they’ve ever come to a decent conversation. “It was nothing, really.” He grins to himself, barely containing his giddy chortles.

Silence ensues again, but it’s a lot less awkward and tense, and by the time Chanyeol speaks up, he’s already finished brushing Mei-Mei and has released her out into the pasturage. They’re now stood outside the barn, gazing out towards the grazing mammals.

“Say, have you ever considered, I don’t know, maybe going out and finding yourself a nice woman?” Chanyeol hesitantly asks, and he tries to keep his tone amicable and kind as he side-eyes the pale immortal stood some feet beside him. It takes a whole minute before Baekhyun gives a reply.

“I don’t want a woman.” He mumbles simply, and Chanyeol feels his pulse flutter.

“Then… A _man_ , perhaps?” Chanyeol tries instead, voice raising into a higher octave.

It’s a breathtaking sight, when Baekhyun’s red lips pull into a mirthful smile, and the soft chuckle that follows is nearly heart-stopping. “Let me put it this way: I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

Chanyeol gives a flustered laugh, ears going red in embarrassment as he quickly nods his head in understanding and rubs at his nape. “Ah, right, yeah, I see. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Baekhyun brushes off, and his smile lingers for only some moments later before it slips away, and it’s as if the man had never show any sign of happiness to begin with.

“I was just thinking that, I don’t know…” Chanyeol shrugs his shoulders. “You seem kind of… lonely.” He chances a glance over at the porcelain boy.

“You’re worrying, again.” Baekhyun retorts, and Chanyeol is once again stammering over his words.

“N-No, I’m not, I was just, y’know.. I couldn’t but notice and all, and I just thought, maybe—”

 Then Baekhyun laughs. _Laughs_ , and Chanyeol swears the sound has killed him and he’s now in heaven as he gazes at the dazzling smile lighting up Baekhyun’s face. His teeth are pearly white and perfectly straight, and Chanyeol can’t help but notice how his lips form a rectangular shape, and the sight is even more endearing.

“Relax, Chanyeol, I was joking.” Baekhyun chuckles warmly, shaking his head with a chortle.

Chanyeol smiles broadly, because he likes the way Baekhyun’s velvety voice sounds as he says his name, and now he was absolutely sure was in heaven—and Baekhyun had to be angel. A beautiful, beautiful angel with striking blue eyes and a flawless complexion. There’s a pause of comfortable silence, before—

“Get back to work.” Baekhyun says as he turns and heads in the direction of the blue barn. His smile is gone now—and Chanyeol yearns to bring it back. He merely nods his head, though, and watches as the petite blackette circles his arms around himself and trudges through the grass as if a heavy mass is upon his shoulders.

It is then that Chanyeol catches sight of Baekhyun’s elbow—the elbow that has been oozing blood just a couple days ago. He expects to see it bandaged, or at least scabbing over, but instead, there is nothing maiming the white flesh there. It is completely untouched, as if the bloody ordeal had never occurred.

Chanyeol, in the end, is left more utterly relieved than confused as he goes off to feed to sheep – following Baekhyun’s orders.


	2. Part Two: II

Baekhyun opened up slowly—one word, one glance, one smile at a time. Of course, there were still the days where he seemingly only tolerated Chanyeol’s existence simply because he was forced to. It happened erratically – no charted on or off days. Chanyeol tried to keep track, had tried to find some sort of pattern to the behavior, but each time he thought he was onto something—what he thought was an ‘on-day’ came out sour with the slamming of dresser drawers and cabinets; Baekhyun never looking him in the eye as if he were a disgrace to humanity. His azure orbs would be dullish, and the pale flawlessness of his skin would take on a hollow gray tint.

The porcelain man would close himself up in the Study, seal himself away from Chanyeol, perch in the bay window, and stare morosely out into the pasture with only gentle melodies playing on the stereo filling the void.

But there were also days where Baekhyun’s tranquil aura practically filled the house, and set a comfortable peace in every corner. Those were the days were he would hold actual conversations with Chanyeol, and though the smiles were kept minimal, there was still some sort of light in those crystal blue eyes, and his complexion would be glowing.

While Chanyeol stocked the hay, Baekhyun would settle down atop the roof of the truck with his legs tucked under himself with a mellow gaze, listening to the taller’s stories of friends and business and mischief.

Chanyeol talked often of his collage best friend—Kim Jongin. He’d tell stories of how Jongin was much younger than himself, yet was charismatic, chic, and far too sexy for his youthful innocence and boyish habits.

He spoke of the time he and Jongin snuck out of their shared dorm to roam around the campus after hours, making narrow escapes passed security guards and avoiding security cameras as best they could.

They’d done it initially just because they just couldn’t sleep and were bored out of their minds, and Chanyeol had been wanting to see the full choreography Jongin had been working on for a class presentation. So they broke into one of the empty practice rooms and made themselves at home – bringing with them junk food and soda they’d bought at a local gas station.

Chanyeol described how gorgeous and really amazing Jongin was when he danced, and that— _“hell, he was even gorgeous just standing there”_ ,  with a liking in his smile he hadn’t even noticed—nor had he noticed the almost coy smirk that crawled onto Baekhyun’s ruby lips before he looked down at his fingers and hummed scandalously.

It caught Chanyeol’s attention, and when he looked at Baekhyun, he couldn’t help but chuckle too even though he hadn’t a clue what was so funny.

“What’re you laughing at?” He asked softly, thinking to himself about how beautiful Baekhyun was, sat there with the sunset painting gorgeous shades of orange and pink behind him.

“Oh– nothing.” Baekhyun thrummed, his tone saying otherwise. “It’s just—you speak really affectionately about Jongin. I’m thinking you two were lovers at some point. Or you at least fucked each other once.”

Chanyeol had turned several shades of crimson—putting the sunset to shame—and did Baekhyun just curse?—and he stammered flusteredly over his words with vehement denials of _“n-no we were just close friends”_ and _“we only kissed like once and it was by complete and total accident!”_

That was one of few times Baekhyun had laughed so carelessly and freely, the sound loud and boisterous like the youth he appeared to be. Chanyeol vowed to make Baekhyun laugh like that more often. (And later admitted that okay maybe there had been a bit more than friendship between himself and Jongin, but it was mostly physical and short-lived.)

**

One night, Baekhyun invited him out to the pasture to stargaze—or, at least that’s the way Chanyeol likes to remember it. Really, Baekhyun had just strolled right past him while Chanyeol was sitting on the couch fiddling with his guitar, and Chanyeol took it as an open invitation when the small divinity didn’t shut him out when he popped up and scuttled after him.

Baekhyun had settled down in the grass and spread his limbs out like a starfish in his slightly ill-fitting black cotton sweater and mock leather pants, with his hair shining in the moonlight as it fell in all directions, almost defying gravity with how it stuck out in some places and swooped gracefully in others.

Chanyeol took the spot next to him, bending his legs inward to support his guitar as he stroked the strings into a gentle dreamlike melody. There was a soft breeze that danced across the grass, and Chanyeol watched as the purple orchids swayed in the distance.

“When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?” Baekhyun feathered into the night sky a couple hours into their talk of nothing and everything.

Chanyeol took a moment to hum thoughtfully, doing a quick riff on his guitar before hoisting his shoulders into a shrug and pausing his playing.

“I variety of things, I guess. A veterinarian was one. A cop. A detective. Fireman. Teacher. Doctor. Therapist—you name it.”

Baekhyun was awfully quiet, but Chanyeol hadn’t asked why – too busy reminiscing in his thoughts.

 “Honestly, I just wanted to be some sort of hero all the way through grade school. I was dead set on becoming Superman when I was eleven. I wanted to be invincible and immortal. Invincible because, duh, no one likes getting hurt, and immortal so that I could save up billions and billions of dollars and build a treehouse in my backyard for me and my family to live in for millions of years. The thought of living forever was so appealing to me for some reason. It still kinda is.” He admitted with a laugh.

“What about you, Baek? Have you ever wondered what it’d be like to live for an eternity?” Chanyeol asked lightheartedly, starting up a mellow strumming pattern as he repositioned his guitar in his lap.

Baekhyun continued his silence for minutes. Chanyeol had almost thought there was no pending reply until the male had turned onto his side—with his back towards Chanyeol.

“An eternity…” Baekhyun started up softly, his voice holding an edge of vexation and sullenness, and Chanyeol stopped playing. “…It’s not something to look forward to. You don’t know what it’d be like—watching your friends—loved ones—grow old without you. Dying off, one by one, right before your eyes, until you’d be left entirely alone. Your days would get bleaker. The thought of living forever would become a torture in itself; eating at your mind and you’d give anything just to die—to finally be able to rest. There would be no point in life and living or existence as a whole. It’s really not something to dream about, Chanyeol.”

The human was nonplussed and silent, gazing inquiringly at the blackette’s back figure. He felt guilty for some un-pinpointable reason. The way Baekhyun had spoken—with such sadness and resentment in his voice—it pained Chanyeol like a ball of coal stuck inside his rib cage, and never had he wanted more than to reach over and burst the invisible wall between them; to comb his fingers through the man’s hair and pet away the worries of his mind.

But he didn’t, and only sat there idly plucking the bottom cord to create a choppy series of high pitched notes.

“Sounds like you’ve thought a lot about it.” Chanyeol mumbled merely as something to say.

“I’ve had time to ponder.” Baekhyun murmured vacantly in reply.

**

Two and a half months into his stay, Chanyeol is certain that he and Baekhyun are not strangers. They’re somehow more than acquaintances, less than friends, and definitely not strangers. He and Baekhyun are just simply… _He and Baekhyun_. There is no label to define them. There’s only the mere fact that there is a ‘them’, and they shall go unnamed.

Baekhyun never lets himself be touched – never lets Chanyeol close enough. The only time he’s ever laid a hand on the porcelain man was the mirror accident – and that was the first and last he’d felt of Baekhyun’s abnormally feverish temperature.

It had been unnoticeable at first, the way Baekhyun always ensured at least four feet of space between them at all times. They could be chatting, smiling, laughing, but he’d never get close enough to touch.

The peculiar habit was brought to Chanyeol attention one night, when they’d stayed up late watching old reruns on TV whilst talking about the troubled youth of today’s society and joking about how old they were getting. Baekhyun sat curled up on one side of the couch; Chanyeol on the other. Everything seemed to be all peaches and cream – Baekhyun had even offered to make his one-of-a-kind hot chocolate for Chanyeol to taste.

When Chanyeol asked why Baekhyun wasn’t having any, Baekhyun merely replied with, _“Oh I’m not thirsty”_ with an offhanded quirk of his lips and shrug as he extended a glass towards the human.

There was something in that sentence, something that just seemed off—like it held some sort of inside joke that Chanyeol just wasn’t grasping.

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he’d jumped in surprise when Baekhyun seized all hold on the glass, and let it shatter all over the marble kitchen floor. Chanyeol had just reached out to take it, and Baekhyun had let go prematurely.

_“Butter-Fingers.”_ The blacket had explained, with no smile and a stoic hue to his irises. Their friendly night of chit-chat had been cut short when Baekhyun bypassed him and went straight upstairs. The finality of it was sealed with the harsh slamming of his bedroom door.

Chanyeol was left to clean up the mess and realize that Baekhyun had dropped the glass merely to keep their hands from touching—that they had been so close to. It was theory he wanted to test, at the moment, however, he was more bruised about the fact he’d never be able to taste Baekhyun’s ‘one-of-a-kind hot chocolate’.

**

Touching is reaching out and acknowledging the presence of something. It’s discovering and learning that this _something_ is real and that the knowledge of it will be inevitable; always kept safe somewhere in the back of Baekhyun’s conscious.

Baekhyun doesn’t want to concede this feeling – this foreign feeling that had arisen within him through one thoughtless glance passed the askew door of Chanyeol’s bedroom. It had been a mindless glance, like simply spotting a little pebble while walking but hardly sparing it a wonder.

Beyond the door, visible between the space of mahogany and door frame, was the mortal, topless, and in the middle of pulling black skinny jeans up and over his rump. Baekhyun halted in his spot. With a little bounce, the garment found its place around Chanyeol’s hips like a second skin, and although there wasn’t much going on in regards to his comically flat rear, Baekhyun still found the sight most appealing as he draw his fingertips to his lower lip.

Chanyeol then reached into one of his open dresser drawers to withdraw a shirt, and Baekhyun watched as broad shoulders slanted – shoulder blades protruding under smooth skin with each movement – and he just wanted a _bite_.

Not a bite of hunger—a bite of _pleasure_.

A familiar ache in his cuspids, and he blinked at the sharp sting in his fingertip, caused by the subconscious nibble he’d given it. He brought his hand away from his mouth, eyeing the bead of blood oozing from the pad of his index finger, then rushed away with a shaken feeling.

Baekhyun shakes his head, dismissing his thoughts on the encounter, and subconsciously places his fingertips atop the surface of the piano keys in front of himself. He feels around a bit—strokes the smooth lacquer and the rounded edges of the black keys, places his feet against peddle—but never applies any pressure. It’s more of a habit than anything. He’s always done this—ever since _that day._

He’s taken notice of Chanyeol’s daily peeking; the giant isn’t exactly light on his feet. He knows that during this wonted time, Chanyeol has created a habit of his own by stopping by the slightly ajar door.

First, he’ll hear the heavy clunks of steel toe boots, and they’ll slowly come to a stop just outside of the room. He’ll hear the soft puffs of Chanyeol’s breath, the silent creak of the door as the mortal stands just a tad too close, and the man will stand there for exactly fifteen seconds before continuing on his way—heavy footsteps fading down the stairs—and his leaving prescience will be marked by the slam of the screen door.

Baekhyun pretends to be oblivious the entire time for the sake of them both.

 

Today is different, however. It starts out like the usual—he hears Chanyeol coming, measures the human’s breaths, and expects to be left alone after counting down the seconds. Only Chanyeol doesn’t leave after fifteen seconds – the contrary. The man creaks the door open, slowly but intentionally, until it’s askew enough for him to stand there in complete view.

For a few moments it’s only silence (and some side-eyeing on Baekhyun’s part). It’s as if Chanyeol is waiting for him to protest. Baekhyun doesn’t; he does nothing but continue stroking the keys.

He’s almost startled when Chanyeol walks towards him and makes to tentatively perch on the very edge of the piano bench. There’s a good seven or so inches between them, but Baekhyun still withdraws his hands to his lap out of pure predisposition.

Chanyeol extends a gangly hand, feeling the keys similarly to how Baekhyun had been. “Do you play?” He punctuates his question with the gentle press of a high E, and the soft ring strikes a chord within the empty hallways of Baekhyun’s heart and mind. The corners of eyes water a bit – just barely, but it’s too obscure to notice.

This is the first time the elderly instrument has sang a gentle tune in decades. It has a cascade of images passing before Baekhyun’s very eyes.

Felt lips, long black lashes, and spiked up _ombré hair_ contrasting against marble-like skin and sparkling hazel eyes. An ethereal semblance – marred by dripping blood and a tyrannizing sneer; human tissue and wheezing screams.

“A bit.” Baekhyun mumbles, subduing his conscious to focus back in on Chanyeol’s knobbly fingers readying over the keys.

“You don’t play often.” Chanyeol states the obvious, tone holding a questioning gist that Baekhyun doesn’t respond to.

“You don’t know a lot?” The taller tries instead. Baekhyun stays silent.

They sit quietly for a while. Baekhyun has his lithe fingers curled into fists atop his thighs, and Chanyeol has drawn his own hands from the piano keys to sandwich between his knees. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s nothing but just a tad tense, and it takes Chanyeol about five minutes to gather his courage.

He reaches a tentative hand towards Baekhyun’s own, “If you want, I can teach you—” but Baekhyun flinches away. Chanyeol blinks; Baekhyun doesn’t look at him. Pause. Chanyeol smiles, nods, and brings his fingers to the keys.

“Okay. I can just play you something, then. When’s your birthday?” Baekhyun looks at him like he’d just spoken a different language, but the human is still wearing that ever subtle smile—without a hint of hurt or confusion about the other’s incorporate conduct.

“Am I supposed to guess?” Chanyeol inquires.

“May.” Baekhyun finally gives, and the lengthy mortal nods his head in consideration, eyes visibly brightening at the simple single word passing crimson lips. He seems to contemplate it for a few moments, feeling about the keys while Baekhyun merely watches like a deer in the headlights.

The divinity feels a surge of inner panic when Chanyeol seems to come to a decision and readies to begin playing. His internal alarm is going off. He’s anxiously awaiting the piano to bleed soft beautiful melodies, but he also doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to reminisce.

Something keeps him from leaving – stops him from stopping Chanyeol. As the taller presses the lacquered keys and starts a gentle, steady pattern, Baekhyun is frozen in his spot. It’s peaceful; it unwinds something within the blackette, and when Chanyeol begins to sing, the baritone melody nuzzles his eardrums in the most gentle of ways.

Chanyeol sings with soft sentiment; grooves his grows, and though his face is mostly unchanging, Baekhyun can see the fragments of emotion in his expression—and he can only marvel at the tenderness of it all.

Baekhyun can feel a subdued want in his voice box. An inclination that wishes him to sing, to harmonize, make any sort of sound to sooth the dusty edges of something that hasn’t been in use for ages. He’s grasping at imaginary ropes, but stays quiet.

Chanyeol brings the melody out a few extra beats, ebbing it away in the higher ranges. His long fingers dither on the keys, and they sit in the settled quiet for several moments.

Baekhyun is staring at his own fingertips, lashes almost grazing his cheeks as he blinks. When Chanyeol finally folds his hands over his lap, he gives a small tight-lipped smile; finding interest in his own extremities, as well.

“When I was younger—eleven or twelve—my family lived with my Grandmother in her mansion. I remember every morning while I was getting ready for school, I could hear my Granma singing that song. We had a piano out on the back deck, and she would sit there and play and sing. Sometimes I’d go sit beside her and listen. She taught me how to play it.

“Mom told me one day, that Granma had always sung that song because it had been my Grandfather’s favorite. She used to play it while Grampa did yard work, and when he was done, she’d fix them both orange juice and play it again. They were so in love. My Dad said that their love was the most honest and pure love he’d ever seen with his own eyes. They were dating for six years, and were married for over forty. Had five kids, three dogs, and two cats.

“Grampa passed away when I was five, and Mom said that every morning, Granma still sat out on the back deck, and played that same song because she believed that Grampa would come back in the morning – every morning – to sit and listen to her.”

Through the time Chanyeol spoke, Baekhyun stays stoic, crystal orbs absentmindedly flitting over to watch the mortal pick at his round nails and twiddle his thumbs.

“It’s a beautiful song.” The divinity says, ever softly. Chanyeol gave the slightest nod of agreement.

There’s another lapse of silence, then Baekhyun stands and sidesteps away from the piano bench. Chanyeol keeps his eyes down at first, but eventually raises his head and turns back to look where Baekhyun has settled in his usual position in the bay window.

His ebony hair reflects a soft shine, and his irises have taken on a grey hue that Chanyeol has grown familiar with. Baekhyun shutting himself away, even though Chanyeol is sitting a mere few feet away from him. This spears a tiny splinter in the human’s chest, and he’s lowering his eyes again.

 

“Don’t fall in love, Chanyeol. It’ll cause you the most excruciating pain you’ll ever experience. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Chanyeol looks up to the porcelain man with a bemused blink. He has half a thought to state that Baekhyun _worrying_ about him, and remind him that they’d made a mutual agreement not to worry of each other—but the jest is dismissed as soon as it was considered.

Because never has Baekhyun looked so small.

So fragile.

So internally maimed, as he sits there in the bay window, with his mouth pressed to his knees, his arms locked around the underside of his legs, and his gaze painfully hollow, as he stares into the pasture.

Chanyeol wants to hold him. Cradle him close but carefully, for fear he might shatter. He’s a millisecond from standing when Baekhyun speaks again, voice suddenly hoarse and tired.

“Play it again.”

Chanyeol stares at him for a few seconds more, then obeys as he turns to the piano and begins the melody again. If this is what Baekhyun wants; if this is what will sooth him—Chanyeol is willing to play it as many times as he desires. As many hours as it takes, Chanyeol will play until Baekhyun is content and wearing the soft and subtle smile he has come to adore so much.

[ (](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Or9CP4MZts)

**Author's Note:**

> [ tumblr : alphaksoo ] [ twitter : biro_baeksoo ] [ instagram : constellationsoo ]


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